


Miraculous!!! On Ice

by reinaaa



Category: Miraculous Ladybug, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hamsters, M/M, Memes, da romance n fluff, wot in tarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinaaa/pseuds/reinaaa
Summary: Figure skaters by day, Miraculous-wielders by night. The title says it all.





	1. Beginnings

The wafting scent of home-cooked katsudon tickled Yuuri's nose. He sighed dreamily, not yet awake, as he imagined bowls of katsudon dancing around his bedroom in little rows. Some were jumping around his desk, some were sitting on his many bookshelves, one was sitting right on top of his body pillow of Viktor Nikiforov, the world's greatest skater, and three were doing the cupid shuffle on his nightstand next to his bed. He reached out to grab one-

"Ow." Yuuri pulled his face off the hardwood floor and inched back up his bed, legs still entangled in his blankets. He blindly reached for his glasses and his phone to check Viktor Nikiforov's twitter feed.

"Yuuri!" His mother was calling him down to eat. Not now, not while he was sobbing over the talented skater's pictures from the previous showcase that was held at the local rink last week. Viktor was a god. A beautiful, talented, sculpted-

"Yuuri, if you don't eat now, your katsudon will get cold!" His mother again, this time eliciting an innate response that signaled it was time for him to stop scrolling through Twitter. His stomach panged rather painfully. Yuuri sighed, slithering down his bed, and inched towards his door on his stomach.

"Yuuri! Last chance or I'm giving this to a customer!"

"I'm coming, Ma-" Yuuri's misstep on the stairs could be heard throughout the entire restaurant his parents owned on the first floor of their three-story Parisian townhouse. His parents ran a quaint Japanese restaurant on the ground floor of the building. The top two floors was reserved for their living space. While the restaurant truly reflected their heritage and culture, as Yuuri's parents prided themselves on running such an authentic Japanese cuisine in the middle of Paris, France, the rest of the house mirrored their current location. It was decorated with a rustic, quaint lifestyle in mind. However, the upstairs kitchen was the only room that matched the restaurant.

His mother, washing dishes in the sink, sighed. "Oh, Yuuri, my delicate boy." His father, sitting at the dining table, flipped to the next page of the newspaper, printed in Japanese. He ignored Yuuri's presence as he shuffled sheepishly into the kitchen, rubbing his bruised forearm.

The bowl of Katsudon was still steaming. Yuuri licked his lips, anticipating the fragrant, flavorful pork slices to finally coat his tastebuds.

"Sleep alright?" His mother asked, ruffling his hair as he tucked eagerly into the meal. He nodded vigorously to spare himself from speaking. This heavenly meal was meant to be-

"Celestino, your skating teacher, called and wants you to audition for this prestigious academy called the Papillion Skating Guild."

Yuuri choked and spit out his mouthful of rice. Viktor Nikiforov, the one and only Viktor Nikiforov, skated under that Guild, and now Celestino wanted him to audition for a spot in the academy? His father folded the newspaper neatly and looked at him over his glasses.

"Isn't that where the Nikiforov boy skates? France's greatest skater or something?"

"Yes!" Yuuri clamped his hand over his mouth, his face turning redder by the second. He didn't know he could squeak like that. And in his front of his father?

His father raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess the training paid off. And here we thought you were wasting your time-"

"Your father means well," His mother interjected earnestly. "In Japan, a boy your age would be studying hard for college entrance exams, not skating."

Yuuri's face fell.

"B-but! Your teacher thinks you're doing a really good job and should go to the next level with your training! And we're proud of you, Yuuri!" His mother nudged his father, who grunted in agreement.

"I'll make you guys proud," Yuuri said quietly, eyes lowered, his katsudon bowl forgotten, chopsticks scattered across the table, sticky rice kernels covering his cheeks. "I'll get into the academy and qualify for the Grand Prix. I'll bring home gold. Or, at least, silver." His mother smiled widely.

"Oh, Yuuri," She sighed, trotting over to hug him fiercely. She patted his cheek. "I am always proud of my beautiful, delicate flower. You're my son, after all."

"Don't you have school, son?" Yuuri's eyes widened.

"What time is it?" He asked his father, who promptly checked his watch.

"7:46 AM. Doesn't school start at 8?" Yuuri yelped, and picked up his bowl of katsudon.

"I'm gonna be late!" He rushed upstairs to change into his school uniform.

* * *

How does one simply describe Paris' greatest skater?

He was a living legend.

Piercing blue eyes, the softest silver hair that framed the skater's face, a heart-shaped smile, long legs and a muscular torso- Viktor was David, Michelangelo's greatest sculpture.

Yuuri had seen every performance, every interview, every article written about him; his idol, the reason why Yuuri found solace in figure skating. Why he put the hours, the effort; why every bruise on his shins were welcomed as signs he was getting better. Every scraped knee would bring him closer and closer to the skater who stole his heart. Viktor was shining and untouchable, a standard for him to reach, despite being so distant. Viktor, always so charming and always put together, always wanting to surprise people and always improving and raising the bar higher. Yuuri wanted to be like him. In his snapchats for his fans, he seemed so friendly and bubbly and sociable- he wished he could meet Viktor at least once in his mundane life.

And his skating. His skating was art, perfection and-

A nearby bell tower sounded the melodious sounds signaling the 8th hour of the morning.

"Aw, crap! I'm definitely late for school now!"

Anyone walking along Boulevard Saint-Michel would be able to notice a boy, sloppily dressed in the crested uniform of College Sevigne, sprinting at full speed with a bowl of rice, eggs and pork. Anyone walking along the Boulevard would also be able to notice that the running boy had his bookbag open, and loose papers were flying out from the open zipper.

Anyone attempting to enjoy the scenic view on their morning commute clearly could tell that not only was the dark haired boy with blue-rimmed glasses losing his much-needed homework, but that he was also very late for school.

An old man sat on a bench along Boulevard Saint-Michel, feeding the pigeons. He hummed quietly to himself, as he got up and hobbled away on his cane. He had some pressing matters to think about, but the issue was resolved. For now, he had some gifts to deliver.

Yuuri, although a good eight minutes late, was making solid time running to school, instead of taking the bus like he usually did. He laughed manically to himself, earning a couple of stares from random passerby, but that was probably because he was so running so fast. Maybe he could make it by the time his homeroom teacher called his name for roll call.

He sharply turned the corner onto Rue Val de Grace. He was gonna make it, he could feel it.

"It always works in the animes," he muttered to himself, as he held up his breakfast a little higher to avoid tripping over a kid with his toy truck playing right outside a grocery store. Yuuri squinted his eyes as he jumped over the toy truck, turning his head slightly to watch the child gape in awe. He turned his head, facing forward.

WHAM. A force hit Yuuri so hard upon impact, he fell back, the bowl of katsudon launching up into the air, making a grand arc, and upending itself upon Yuuri's already ruffled school uniform. He sighed- this was a great way to start off a Monday. He brushed his hair away from his eyes, and straightened his glasses.

An old man lay upon the sidewalk, his cane tossed aside. Yuuri gasped in shock. He killed a man- he killed a senior citizen, a grandpa- right before school!

"Sir," He wailed, shaking the old man and checking for his pulse. "Are you alright?" Yuuri sighed in relief when he felt the old man's strong pulse beating in the apex of his neck. The old man opened his eyes. Yuuri carefully pulled him to a standing position, and handed him his cane.

"Thank you, son." The old man smiled warmly at him.

"S-sorry! It was an accident, I didn't even see you-" Yuuri's babbling was cut off when the old man pulled something out of his coat pocket.

"Take this," The old man rasped. "As a token of my appreciation." He left Yuuri clutching the small box in shock, the contents of his bowl of katsudon all over his uniform, and his backpack nearly empty save for a few composition notebooks, papers scattered- swirling all over Rue Val de Grace.

There was a note on the box. It read- "Open this at home. :)"

* * *

Viktor sighed, flipping his silvery hair out of his face, as he bent down to tie his laces. Yakov was increasing the intensity of his fitness regimen in order to avoid plateauing before the skating season. Viktor stood up slowly, reaching out towards the sky as he began to stretch, his body languidly extending up to the sky.

He was feeling out of sorts, lately. Surprising his fans was starting to become difficult. It was what he lived for.

Viktor tensed, getting into a starting position to begin his run. He quickly started a timer on his Fitbit.

Two years ago, he had said in an interview that his motto was "you have to do the opposite of what people expect." How else will you surprise them? But after 4 years of doing exactly that, Viktor was starting to run out of ideas.

After 5 miles, Viktor took a break, chugging a liter of water that he had gotten from a nearby grocery store on Rue Val de Grace. The street was oddly littered with papers. They seemed to be someone's homework.

Back at his apartment, Makkachin greeted him with a loud bark.

"Hello, sweetie," he cooed to his fluffy monster, as he shut the door behind him. "Want some breakfast?"

He shuffled into the kitchen, mammoth dog in tow, and pulled out a box of cereal and a bag of dog food out of a cupboard by the fridge. Makkachin, at the sight of her food, gave another loud bark in excitement. Viktor turned around, opened another cupboard, and pulled out two bowls. After pouring the appropriate nourishments into their respective dishes, Viktor set Makkachin's meal on the floor next to the kitchen table. Grabbing his laptop, he began to scroll through his Tumblr feed.

After 16 aggravating minutes of artisan coffee cups, aesthetically-pleasing images of tumblr boys who had great taste in fashion, and various puppy pics, Viktor slammed his laptop shut. Makkachin tilted her head at him.

There was absolutely nothing that inspired him at all anymore. He was motivation-less, his will to create and compose nearly depleted, gone. And there was no amount of exercise or scrolling through social media to get him back to what he was before. He needed a miracle to happen. Something unexpected and amazing- something to change his life forever, for better or worse.

"Makkachin," He sighed, long lashes striking against his pale, angular face. He slumped in his chair, cereal forgotten, as Makkachin pressed her snout into his hand, begging for a pat. "I wish something interesting would happen to us." He opened his eyes, and began to play with his dog's long ears. Makkachin panted happily.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"Coming!" Viktor called weakly, as he nearly tripped over his huge dog as he tried to get to the door fast enough. Makkachin excitedly barked, turning around and around and around her exasperated owner's legs, as he tried to make it to the door in time.

Who could it be? He wasn't expecting any company.

"Makkachin, darling, please move?" Makkachin promptly sat down, her tongue lolling, as Viktor tripped over a dog toy, nearly hitting his head on the coffee table. He pushed himself off the ground, promptly brushing off stray dog hairs, his own hair escaping the clutches of his messy bun.

He opened his door. No one was there.

"Curious," He murmured, as Makkachin pushed past him and sniffed the doormat interestedly. Makkachin gave a loud bark, and promptly ran back into the apartment.

"Makkachin, what is it, darling?" Viktor whirled around and spotted her clutching a dark object in her mouth. His eyes widened.

"Makkachin, give that to me right now. Put that down." Makkachin began to run behind the sofa, as Viktor attempted to chase after her, worried that his pup was about to swallow a weird, strange thing. Viktor cornered Makkachin in between the wall and the sofa, effectively tackling her. He wrestled the box(?) out her vice-like grip and pulled it out of her mouth. Makkachin barked loudly in his ear, and tried to nip his shoulder. Holding the box high above his head, he scolded his naughty dog.

"Sweetie, what did I tell you about taking things that don't belong to you?" Makkachin whimpered quietly, her tail between her legs, as she picked up a chew toy off the floor, heading for her dog bed in Viktor's room. Viktor sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand. It was hard raising a poodle alone.

He placed the ornate box on the coffee table. He had to get to the Academy soon. Yakov needed him to sit in for an important meeting concerning the Guild later on. Right now, however, he needed to find out what the deal was with the box.

The box glared at him as Viktor sat in front of it, inspecting it with his eyes. It had weird Chinese characters written across the front and the sides, forming an interlocking pattern that resembled a hexagonal shape. The box, made of a dark mahogany, was beautiful. The only thing that kept it closed was a small clasp.

"What's in the box?" he murmured to himself, as he reached out a long, manicured finger to unlock the clasp. He gently lifted the top open. Viktor gasped.

* * *

After a long day of school, all Yuuri wanted to do was to jump into bed and go into hibernation. Not only did he lose all of his homework, all of which he worked especially hard on, but his clothing was soiled and dirty, which the headmaster scolded him on and gave him a total of three (three!) demerits. After that, but the teacher made him get up and recite the manifesto of Robespierre from the French Revolution, but public speaking made him very anxious, and the snickers from his fellow classmates over his current state of dress (he had pork sauce all over his white button down) made him leave the classroom in tears. He spent all of lunch sobbing in the boys bathroom.

He shed his school uniform, and rushed into the bathroom for a hot steamy shower. The most peculiar thing about the day was, he thought, how he was given a peculiar box, inscribed with Chinese characters, to only open when he got home.

The steam from the hot shower clouded Yuuri's mind, as he lathered soap all over his tense, shivering body. He began to calm down. The box would have to wait. He needed a long nap. After his nap, he was going to catch up on schoolwork, and write in his journal. Then, he would have to work out a compositional piece with Ciao Ciao at the rink, for his audition with the Papillion Guild.

Yes, the box would have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

"Yo, my Twitter feed is so lit! People are posting so many memes of the Chulanont squad," Phichit said over Skype, while Yuuri was attempting to start his calculus homework. Phichit was scrolling through his array of blogs, Twitter accounts, Facebook pages and Instagram accounts for his hamsters. His hamsters were internet celebrities, thanks to their adorable, chubby little faces and Phichit's stellar photography skills.

Recently, Phichit had been posting pics of his hamsters wearing tiny, knitted hats (made by Yuuri, of course) and people were obsessed. Phichit came across a meme featuring Vinny, his Russian dwarf hamster, stuffing a miniature taco in his mouth, cheek pouches bulging. He read the caption out to Yuuri, who chuckled softly, wiping a stray tear.

"Wow, so relatable," Yuuri smirked at Phichit, who shrugged.

"My fans are actually so dedicated. 2017 is gonna be the year of the Chulanont memes. It's lit!"

"Your hamsters are really famous," Yuuri said, throwing his pencil at his laptop screen. "Now, can you let me do my homework? I'm already so behind and in trouble with my parents for losing all of my homework!" His parents were threatening to ground him if he didn't write a full letter of apology to the teachers and the headmaster as well as redo all of the assignments he had lost from his misadventure that morning. He couldn't skate if he was grounded. His entire career was in jeopardy now!

Yuuri glanced at his desk. The box sat quietly, cold and unwelcoming. Yuuri felt bad vibes coming from the box. It was like Pandora's Box or something. He was a little bit curious about what was going to happen if he just peeked inside. But maybe, he should return the box to the poor, old man. He was probably delirious from passing out on the sidewalk. He must've hit his head or something. You don't just give things out like that for free. Especially an expensive-looking box made of mahogany and etched beautifully with interwoven Chinese characters.

Phichit tsked. "Of course I can't let you do your homework. I'm your best friend."

Yuuri groaned, his hands ruffling his hair in frustration.

"Also, considering the latest developments, I simply cannot let you off the hook yet. You sly fox," Phichit wagged his finger at him, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. "How did you convince Ciao Ciao to let you audition for Papillion Guild?"

Yuuri winced. "I don't know, it just happened. He called my parents this morning." How did Ciao Ciao even get an invitation like that? And why him, out of all people? Ciao Ciao could've chose Phichit instead. He was every bit as talented, if not more, as Yuuri was. At least he didn't flunk Nationals.

"What piece are you going to skate to?"

Yuuri flopped onto his bed, pushing his calculus textbook off the bed, defeatedly resigning to the fact that he wasn't going to do any calculus any time soon. "I was hoping to skate Viktor's program, Stay Close To Me," He buried his head into his pillow. "It's my favorite program by him."

Watching him skate Stay Close To Me always made him feel incredibly happy. It was one of the reasons why Yuuri continued to skate, against his father's half-hearted wishes. It was why he never felt so alone, even when he was at that horrible private school that he was forced to go to, even though no one except his family, Phichit, and Ciao Ciao didn't pay much attention to him. Viktor's program, the music, and the way he moved, made up for all of that.

Phichit pinched his nose bridge thoughtfully. "Do you think Viktor will be watching your audition, too?"

Yuuri squeaked, his face turning beet red. "Maybe?" He flushed scarlet.

Phichit smiled. "Maybe this time, you'll actually meet the man of your dreams. What are you going to say to him?"

Yuuri sat up, ruffling his messy hair again. "I don't know," he wailed, flinging a nearby pillow against a wall. "I'm certain I'm going to mess up everything in front of him and he'll be too disgusted to even look at me and the Papillion Guild will most definitely reject me and Ciao Ciao will drop me and then I won't get to be on France's Olympic team and then-"

"Woah, easy there, Yuuri," Phichit leaned into the camera, eyeing Yuuri worriedly. "Deep breaths, man. Take it easy. You're not auditioning for them till Friday, right?"

Yuuri nodded, inhaling and exhaling sharply, trying to calm down. Today was Monday. A lot could change in a week.

"Sorry," he stammered quietly. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with the end of his faded blue shirt.

Phichit noted the blush on Yuuri's face and decided not to embarrass him further. "So, Yuuri," he started hesitantly. "What did you get for #18?"

Yuuri glared at him.

* * *

 

The apartment was bathed in a burst of green light. For a split second, Viktor was blinded. Makkachin yelped, and Viktor heard her nails skitter across the long hall into the kitchen. Viktor opened one bleary eye.

The most exquisite ring rested delicately in the box. The black stone was speckled with green flecks that shined so brightly in the well-lit living room, and it was set in a band of pure, gleaming gold. Viktor had to try on the ring. Miraculously, the ring fit his ring finger. The black stone starkly contrasted with his pale skin, and Viktor was so busy admiring how beautiful the stone was and how beautiful and inspired he felt that he didn't notice a tiny cat floating around, eyeballing his living space. It casually floated up to him.

"Am I dreaming?" Viktor asked the floating cat in panic, clutching his new ring.

The cat thing gave Viktor an unimpressed stare. "No."

Viktor and the cat thing eyed each other for a long while. The cat thing sighed, breaking the silence. "This is wasting my time," It said huffily, floating slowly back to the box. "Wake me up when something better comes along. And give me my ring back."

"What do you mean, "something better"? And what are you anyway?"

The cat thing floated up to eye level. "I am a kwami. I help ordinary people like you become heroes. I am an ancient magic that cannot be contended with. And, I have somewhere to be." It said all of this in one big, monotonous breath that screamed, I am so bored right now, kill me.

"What?" Viktor said dumbly. This entire conversation was moving too quickly. And why was he so calm about seeing a magical, floating, talking cat for the first time? Did Mila slip something in his drink this morning?

"My ring, please." The kwami floated over the box, folding its tiny little arms petulantly.

"Wait," Viktor said suddenly, eyes going wide. "Did you just say that you make ordinary people like me superheroes?"

The kwami rolled its eyes. "Yes, I said that already!"

Viktor smiled at the tiny, black cat with glowing green eyes. "Let's make a deal. I'll give you whatever you want, anything, in exchange for you to make me a hero."

The kwami coughed, ears twitching. "Pirozhki . Whenever I want it."

Viktor smiled. "You've got yourself a deal-"

"Yuri." The kwami interjected, tail whipping behind him. "My name's Yuri."

Viktor cradled the ring with a loving stare. "You've got yourself a deal, Yuri. So, when do we start?"

"Well, you could get me some right about now. That's a start."

* * *

It was late, the restaurant had finally closed for the night, and the only thing you could hear was the quiet traffic of Paris' nocturnal people- the travelers, the partiers, the people with no place to be, the cabbies, the gangs. It was late, yet the only thing stirring in the dead silence of the sleeping Katsuki household was Yuuri, as he struggled to finish up a 5-page minimum essay on ethics of consumerism.

Beside him, lay the mysterious box, unopened. It calmly watched him as he furiously typed out the last bit of the conclusion.

Yuuri looked almost ethereal, the blue light from the computer screen filtering through the air and highlighting up his face, his glasses reflecting the light, casting blue shadows across the wall, almost like shadow puppets.

He hunched over his notes, scanning through the pages upon pages he had to redo because the stupid zipper on his bag didn't zip all the way.

Moments passed when he heard a faint squeak. Well, it wasn't really a squeak, maybe he imagined it? Yuuri shook his head, the caffeine was getting to him. Yeah, that was it. Just hallucinations derived from sleep-deprivation. At least he had only two subjects remaining with assignments left to complete.

He clicked print and breathed a sigh of relief. Yuuri stretched back in his rolling chair and sighed in relief. Maybe, he might get more than three hours of sleep tonight.

Yuuri froze. He heard it again. The squeaking noises. Where was it coming from? He dropped to the floor. Maybe it was a mouse? A rat? A hedgehog? A racoon?

Yuuri searched every nook and cranny in his small bedroom, but to no avail. He searched through his bookshelf, carefully looking around his Viktor Nikiforov action figures and snow globes. He eyed his posters warily, but the cheekily winking Viktors were silent.

"Like you should be," he whispered to a Viktor posing with his dog, Makkachin in one of his posters. Poster Viktor's eyes seemed to follow his every footstep. This was all a trick of the eyes- an optical illusion. There was nothing to be afraid of.

The house creaked loudly, wind rustling the leaves outside his window. Yuuri stood there for a moment, in the center of his dark bedroom, listening for the slightest movement, the slightest noise, the slightest squeak-

There. It did it again. Unless Yuuri was going crazy- which was possible, considering the amount of work he managed to do in the span of five hours, while talking to Phichit during the first two- or there was something or someone in his room!

He crouched down and searched under his bed, wrinkling his nose. The overpowering stench was too much. Nothing would even be alive down there, much less squeak. His old ice skates were probably the ones causing the stench, but he had lost them five months ago, so he didn't know if they actually were down there. Yuuri fanned the air around him and crawled under the desk. He wouldn't be surprised if one of Phichit's hamsters were buried down there-

"Shit!" Yuuri cursed under his breath as he banged his head underneath the desk. His stuff went airborne- the pencils rolled off the desk onto the floor, and his jar of random crap tipped over and spilled everything over his homework and keyboard. The box tilted to its side, rolled to the edge of the desk, and fell- the box's lid flying open and the contents scattering to all four corners of the room. Yuuri spied a ring, a delicate, flowery-looking ring set with a shimmering red stone, roll out of sight into the treacherous wasteland that was the underside of his bed.

Oh no. He was going to have to excavate the entire underside of the bed if he was going to have a chance finding the old man's heirloom.

He owed the grandpa a service, at least. Yuuri nearly killed him. He was relieved he didn't press charges, only a tiny box with a pretty expensive-looking ring inside.

He reached his hand fearfully into the depths of his worst nightmare.

Yuuri frantically pawed through rotten apple cores, sweaty gym socks and used tissues, but he couldn't find the ring!

"Crap, crap, crap," he muttered to himself as he swept the contents out from under the bed. Where did it roll off to?

A stranger mistakenly gave him a box with an antique-looking ring and what does he do?

Yuuri grabs his Viktor body pillow, and screams into Viktor's abs.


	3. Chapter 3

Viktor grinned his trademark heart-shaped smile, as the little flying cat excitedly munched through a particularly large pirozhki bun. 

“Do you like it?” The little cat scowled at him, swishing its little tail in annoyance. 

“Don’t talk to me when I’m eating,” Wow, this little cat had such an attitude. 

“So, can I call you Yurio?” Yurio choked on the bit of meat he was swallowing. 

“What?” The little cat sputtered, microscopic bits of fried dough and beef spraying over Viktor’s favorite cardigan. The bright blue one that brought out the color of his eyes. Viktor pouted. It costed a fortune to get it dry-cleaned, and now he was gonna have to take it to the cleaners’ first thing in the morning. 

“I want to give you a pet name,” he said quietly to the angry little kitten, rolling a bun across the table. 

“I do NOT condone this behavior,” Yurio shouted, flicking his ears in annoyance. 

“Too bad, I’m wearing the ring!” Viktor giggled as Yurio vanished into a nearby vase. 

“I hate humanity. You guys are too selfish.” 

Viktor flipped his hair dramatically and winked at the petulant alien cat hiding inside the vase. He closed his eyes serenely as he kissed the stone on the ring and whispered three very freeing words. “Yurio, transform me!”

Ethereal green light gathered at the soles of his feet as Yurio was sucked unceremoniously into the ring, the vase wobbling dangerously close to the edge. The light quickly traveled upwards his body, replacing his cuffed acid wash denim boyfriend jeans with a stretchy, black leathery material that hugged his calves and thighs rather well. The green light grew in intensity as it flashed up his torso and arms, replacing his white and blue striped shirt with more black, stretchy leather. He felt the flash encase his face and hair. He opened his eyes, and rushed to a nearby mirror.

Viktor gasped in delight. “You’ve turned me into a kitty!” He pressed his face up to the mirror dorkily, as he examined his bulbous green tinted eyes, his floppy black ears which contrasted sharply with his voluminous grey hair, his new autonomous tail (which was made out of a belt???), and most importantly, his new bell, tied in a ribbon around his neck. Viktor felt really cute and adorable. 

Spinning around, he noticed a metal rod hanging above the base of his tail, at the small of his back. “What does this thing do?” he muttered curiously as he twisted around to reach for the weird stick. He held it experimentally in his hand, and twirled it around. Without any warning, it extended to its full baton length, hitting the mirror, effectively smashing it to pieces. 

Viktor gaped in horror. “Nonononono-” He immediately dropped to the floor, and began picking up the shards of broken mirror, pausing only in amazement when the suit absorbed all of the scrapes he would’ve gotten from handling the mirror shards with his bare hands. 

He picked up all of the largest pieces off the ground and carried it into the kitchen, where he dumped it into his trash can. Viktor crouched in front of the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a small dustpan and broom.

He hit his head on the cabinet door. 

“Wow, I’m really unlucky today, aren’t I?” Viktor stood up and walked back into the living room to sweep up the broken mirror particles. Luckily, Makkachin was napping in his bedroom, so he didn’t have to worry about her getting hurt from the shards. 

Viktor calmly swept up the mess.

Was it because of the black cat suit? Or the floating black cat? Viktor was never this clumsy, shown through the years of flawless ice skating personified in various medals and trophies, scattered haphazardly around the room, tucked into bookshelves, and drawers, used to hold umbrellas and flowers, carefully disguised as coasters.

Makkachin strolled into the living room to retrieve a forgotten squeaky toy. 

“Yurio! What have you done to me?” Viktor wailed pitifully, attracting the judgmental glare of his pet dog, who, felt clearly betrayed from the obscene display of her master in a frivolous cat suit.

* * *

Upon waking up the next morning, there was one thing coursing through Yuuri’s mind.

The ring. 

It was still lost under his bed, and there was no way that Yuuri could return the old man’s precious heirloom to him. 

Yuuri brushed his teeth, noting the dark circles under his eyes from the restless night he spent tossing and turning, worrying about the whereabouts of the ring. He spit out the toothpaste, and rinsed out his mouth. School wasn’t for a couple of hours, but Yuuri was determined to not have a repeat of the past few days. 

“Yuuri, are you done yet?” Loud banging on the door startled Yuuri’s train of thought. His sister, Mari, back from a four day retreat at a campsite with her senior class, desperately needed a shower. 

Yuuri shut off the faucet, water droplets collecting at the bottom of the sink, swirling, swirling, swirling, almost methodically down the drain. 

“Yuuri, I really need to take a shower! Get out of the bathroom already,” Mari stuck her head into the bathroom and stuck out her tongue playfully. “Unless you want a B.O-abundant hug from your only sister, whom you’ve missed so dearly-”

“Gross, Mari,” Yuuri ducked out of his sister’s vengeful embrace as he gathered his toothbrush and towel and scurried back to his bedroom. 

He carefully put on his uniform, slipped on his glasses, gathered his schoolbooks and carefully zipped them into his schoolbag, only pausing to glance at the forlorn little box, unceremoniously tipped over on it side, empty from yesterday’s ordeal. 

It would take a miracle for Yuuri to find the ring now. 

Yuuri trotted down the stairs and flopped down onto a seat in his mother’s kitchen. 

“Yuuri,” his mother trilled happily. “What would you like for breakfast?”  
Yuuri looked up and almost died from shock right then and there. The ring, gleaming almost provocatively, was sitting in the center of the table. 

Yuuri gasped for air. “Mommy,” he whispered wheezily. “Where did you get that ring?” 

His mother turned around and smiled at him, calming him down just a little bit. “It was right outside your door,” She wiped her hands on her apron, and sat down in a chair adjacent to his. “Must’ve rolled out of your room.” Mrs. Katsuki twiddled her thumbs. “So,” she leaned in conspiratorially, her glasses sliding down her nose. “Who’s it-”

“Mooooom!” Yuuri grabbed the ring and jumped out of his chair, grabbing his bento his mother prepared for him. “Stop it!”

“What?” His mother eyed him innocently, as he ran up the stairs to put the ring back in the box. “What did I do wrong?”

Yuuri carefully put the ring back in the box, shut it carefully, and proceed to tape the box to prevent any further accidents. He contemplated bringing the box with him to school- if he saw the old man on the way to school, he’d be able to return it to him, no questions asked. 

Yuuri slid the intricate box into his pocket and ran back down the stairs.

* * *

Right before second period, Chemistry, Phichit slid him a note. 

Yuuri held the note up for closer inspection, but before he could get a chance to read it, a boy in a red hoodie with swarovski diamonds spelling out JJ RULES, plucked it out of his fingers. Yuuri glared at him in annoyance. 

JJ. Jean-Jacques. School bully and self-entitled prick. 

“Ooooh! Yuuri has a love note! Who’s it from?” Yuuri reached for the note frantically. 

“No, I don’t! It’s from Phichit!” Both boys swiveled their heads over to Phichit, who gave a flirty wave. 

Pushing Yuuri’s face out of the way, Jean-Jacques scanned the pink note, and balled it up. Yuuri slumped over his desk, scowling. 

“Oh trust me, you have no chance of ever joining the Papillion Guild.” Jean-Jacques smirked, slamming Yuuri’s textbook flat on the desk. “That’s only for, like, _talented_ skaters.” He threw the balled-up wad of pink paper flawlessly into the wastebasket across the room, earning him a cheer from his girlfriend, Isabella Yang, seated across the room. 

“Yuuri is talented,” Phichit promptly leaped up at the defense of his best friend. “Tell him, Yuuri! You won silver at your last Worlds Competition! What did you win, _JJ-the-jet-plane?”_

Yuuri slid back into his seat and put his head on the desk. “Just stop it, Phichit.” Phichit gaped, no sound coming out. Why was his talented friend being so stubborn? Couldn’t he just stand up for himself for once?

Jean-Jacques laughed, earning the stares of their fellow classmates. “Him, winning a medal? In his dreams!” He leaned in closer to Yuuri, his breath smelling a little like roasted ham. “I eat piggies like you for breakfast.” 

“Boom. Roasted!” Jean-Jacques strutted to the door. “That’s JJ style!” He turned around and signed his fingers before slamming the door shut behind him. That guy always had to be so extra. His behavior was really annoying, but Jean-Jacques intimidated a lot of people so they mostly tried to ignore him. 

Yuuri sighed in relief. One less confrontation avoided. He pulled the box out of his pocket, and placed it carefully in his desk, next to his pencil case. Chemistry was almost starting. And, after Chemistry, Yuuri had all of lunchtime to track down the old man, and return the box to him. 

Phichit eyed the door angrily. “I hate hockey players,” he muttered, turning to the correct page in Yuuri’s chemistry textbook. 

“Same.” 

Phichit huffed in annoyance, and pulled Yuuri’s book closer. “Then do something about it! Don’t just let him push you around!” 

“Phichit,” Yuuri grabbed the corner of his textbook and tugged. “Stop trying to steal my textbook.” Phichit gave him a shook look. 

“I’m shook, Yuuri.” Phichit leaned back and guilelessly put his hand over his heart. “I’m borrowing your textbook because I keep forgetting mine.”

“You purposely don’t bring your textbooks to class, because you know I’ll let you borrow mine!” 

Phichit smiled playfully. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Yuuri was about to say something, but he felt the room was unusually silent. He looked back at the front of the room, where the teacher was staring at him with an incredulous look. 

Guang-hong, who usually sat on the other side of him and was generally quiet on the most part, leaned over and whispered in Yuuri’s ear. 

“We’ve been waiting for you guys to stop talking for the past seven minutes.” Yuuri blanched immediately, head bowing down in pure embarrassment. 

“Sorry!” He squeaked quietly to himself, as pockets of the class giggled into their hands. The teacher tiredly began her commentary about the importance of significant figures when doing chemistry problems. 

Yuuri could barely pay attention. He almost forgot about the box, plaintively buzzing with energy, the ring just waiting to be worn. He eyed it nervously, and glanced at Phichit, who was indiscreetly checking instagram. 

Yuuri sighed. 

“At least have the decency to look embarrassed and guilty,” Yuuri whispered to him angrily, as the bored boy yawned loudly.

“What did I even do? I just wanted to borrow your textbook. I don’t have one, remember?”

Yuuri scoffed quietly, tearing a page carefully out of his book and scribbing a long, angry letter to his best friend. 

Phichit rolled his eyes. Why was Yuuri being so extra? It was just Chemistry.

For the rest of the lesson, Phichit and Yuuri, who was extremely embarrassed, passed angry notes to each other for the rest of the period. 

As they filed out of the room to get to the next class, Yuuri heard the chemistry teacher mutter to herself, miserably, as she wiped down the board for the next lesson. 

“Why do I even bother with this,” She furiously swiped at a dirty spot on the board. “I barely get paid, anyway.”

Yuuri and Phichit shared a guilty look.

* * *

Viktor had spent the last 5 hours in his new cat suit. Seeing as there was no zipper, and the costume, although super stretchy, couldn’t be ripped off or anything. Viktor was stuck. He had a meeting to go to in 30 minutes, and he had no idea how to get out of his suit. 

He was also pretty sure you couldn’t just show up to your boss’ meeting and declare that the guy in the superhero suit was you. He read enough comic books to know that the most sacred secret any hero had was their identity. No one could know. 

Except of course, maybe your best friend or your dog. 

Viktor glanced at his cell phone. Maybe he could look it up on Google? 

His claws, which came with the suit, made it so hard for him to use his phone. Viktor clumsily typed in, _how do super heroes transform back in2 regular peple???_

He casually waited for the page to load. 

Apparently, Google knew nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Later, at the rink, Yuuri practiced his triple toe loops as the weight of the ornate box with the ring pressed tightly against his chest. It affected his skating, causing him to flub his landings, ungraceful as a bumbling ladybug landing on a flower petal. 

Celestino watched him, apprehension of his student’s future audition for the Papillion Guild shining in his green eyes. He blew his whistle, motioning Yuuri to skate lunges around the rink and wrap up his practice. 

Yuuri sighed, frustrated with himself over the fact that he was letting a strange ring get to him. Why was he so wary of a stone set into a delicate loop of metal? It was just an accessory, nothing big. Nothing strange or weird should happen to him if he wore the ring like the old man recommended. In fact, it would complement his look very well. It would look really pretty on his ring finger. Maybe Phichit would even put it on his Instagram. Yuuri pushed off with his right leg, as he braced his body for the lunges. 

He glided swiftly on the ice, his back leg pointed straight out, his left leg at a perfect 90 degrees. Yuuri, feeling himself, arched his back and lifted his arms artistically. Yes, the ring didn’t matter much. It was just an free accessory for him to flaunt around. He should stop worrying. 

He pulled his back leg out of the lunge, and pushed his left leg out, arms splayed out. He felt beautiful, ice shards flying out from under his skate blades. His sweat, sliding off his brow, glittering in the bright lights of the rink, highlighted his high cheekbones. Yuuri closed his eyes, dark eyelashes framing his face, enduring the delicious burn his thighs felt, as he skated yet another lap around the spacious rink. He decided to end his cool-down with a tentative triple toe loop. He stepped strongly off his right foot and leaped. 

Yes! He nailed it! 

Someone in the back started clapping. “Okay, Yuuri, you can stop showing off now.” Yuuko shouted from the break room. 

Yuuri skated a slow loop, openly panting, quick clouds of white emitting from his mouth. He smiled as he met his coach’s smiling eyes. 

“Finishing practice off with a bang, ay, Yuuri?” He said once Yuuri got within distance for him to pat him deftly on the back. 

Yuuri blushed, as Celestino handed him his glasses back. “Thanks, Celestino! I have a lot more confidence about Friday, now.” 

“Perfect, that’s what I like to hear. Go home after you stretch in the break room and help yourself to some hot chocolate Phichit made.” 

Yuuri nodded and made his way carefully to the break room, where he noticed Phichit and Yuuko huddled together in the corner. He sat on the bench opposite of them, and untied his skates’ laces. He slowly slid off each skate, groaning as he finally felt the numbing ache of his sore feet. 

Phichit and Yuuko were still huddled together, looking at something on Phichit’s phone. 

“Hey guys, whatcha lookin’ at?” Yuuri slowly got up to peer over Phichit’s shoulder. It was a Youtube video of him skating his lunges from 10 minutes ago. Yuuri watched himself, back arched, arms above his head, back leg taut and framing his plump butt, skate flawlessly around the rink. Phichit’s camera even picked up on the shards of ice flying as he made smooth turns around the ice. The video ended with Yuuri’s victorious triple toe loop, revolutions spectacular, landing a perfect ten, with his left leg raised. The video ended, the final frame with a close-up of Yuuri’s sweaty face, dark eyelashes a stark contrast against his pale skin. Yuuri gaped. 

“Yuuri... That… was beautiful,” Yuuko breathed softly, as she clutched her nose. 

Phichit stared at the phone at his hands. “Wow,” eyes unmoving from the now-dark screen. “I filmed. A masterpiece.” 

Yuuri, face pale, clutched his chest. “Normally, I would disagree with you, but…” he trailed off.  
  
  


* * *

  
“Chris, you’re a fan of the marvel comics, aren’t you?” Viktor, still in his cat suit, twirled his hair as he reclined on the couch with Makkachin, who decided to love him for who he was, regardless of the fact that he wearing material resembling The Enemy of All DogsTM. Viktor frantically tried to remain calm. He was 10 minutes late to the mandatory guild meeting, and Lilia was going to fry his ass, regardless of whether he was Paris’ greatest skater.

“Viktor! I’m at practice! You can’t just bring up stuff like that when the other boys~ are around!” Viktor rolled his eyes. Isn’t it cool to be a Marvel fan or something? 

“Isn’t it cool to be a Marvel fan now? Anyway, Chris, I need to-” 

“Why do you want to know, anyway?” Chris’ tone seemed slightly suspicious. Viktor could feel himself start to sweat. 

“I-I’m-” Viktor’s eyes darted around the room, until they landed on the book discarded on his coffee table. “I’m writing a book!” 

Chris scoffed. “Viktor, we full well know, that you don’t write. Stop lying,” 

“You’re right, I’m actually writing,” Viktor gritted his teeth, and held his phone away from his face. “Fanfiction.”

Chris screamed. Makkachin lifted her head off of Viktor’s knee in alarm, and they exchanged a look. 

“Chris,” Viktor plaintively called his best friend’s name. “Can you please stop screaming so I can ask you a favor?” 

“Ok, ok. Only if you let me give you a makeover this weekend.” Viktor squeezed his eyes shut. Chris was never good at giving makeovers to people, despite the fact that he always looked glowing and beautiful. “And, read the fanfiction,” he added.

Viktor gritted his teeth. “Fine. Now tell me, how do superheroes detransform from their costumes?” 

Chris laughed. “That’s such an easy question!” Viktor rolled his eyes. “They either detransform after fighting crime, using their signature move, or saying a certain catchphrase that’s usually similar to how they transformed in the first place.” 

Viktor stared at his dog, mind frantic. He couldn’t go out like this, not yet! He had no idea how to use the costume, to bend it to its every whim and will, to get it to submit to him and wield it like its true master would. He felt clumsy, frumpy, and overbearing in the suit, as if he was an overdressed, petulant child whose mother thought it was a good idea to gloss the child’s lips with a bright red lipstick. 

He didn’t know what the special move was for this suit, either. Yurio wasn’t much help, and the small cat clearly hated him in the suit, too. 

“What’s the opposite of ‘transform me’?” he muttered to himself, forgetting Chris was still on the line. 

“What?” Chris said, breaking Viktor’s fragile train of thought. “What did you say? Viktor?” 

Viktor ended his call with Chris and set his phone down. “Yurio, detransform me.” He watched in awe as green light flashed down his body, revealing his clothes. Yurio drifted down slowly, to the coffee table, where he began to yowl hungrily. 

“Pirozhki,” he squeaked, voice raspy, as loud as a tiny angry cat could get. “Feed me, I’m hungry, I need food!” 

Viktor rushed to the kitchen to heat up some frozen pierogies for his new kwami to eat. Guess he wasn’t going to the guild meeting. He had to get answers out of Yurio as soon as possible. 

Who was he now, with the mask on? What hidden powers did he have? What did this mean for Paris? 

Viktor glanced outside of his kitchen window, the sky a dark indigo blue, now that the sun was setting earlier and earlier. If he, a superhero, now existed, then didn’t it mean that something malicious and evil was swirling around Paris? Superheroes were meant to fight bad guys; one couldn’t exist without the other. 

Was he the only force meant to serve as a barrier between the city of Paris and evil?  
  
  


* * *

  
It was already pretty dark when Yuuri finally left the break room to go home. He still couldn’t believe his friends had the audacity to film him secretly while he was practicing, and more so the audacity of himself to look so goddamn amazing when he was just messing around and exaggerating some quick stretches around the rink.

At least the excitement from practice made him forget his anxieties about the ring. 

Darn, the ring. It was still in his pocket. 

Yuuri waited until he was finally in the safety of his bedroom to open the ring box and slide the pretty ring onto his ring finger. A hot flash of red seared his corneas. 

“W-what the heck was that?” he stammered. He glanced at his new ring, twinkling delicately. Where did that red flash come from?

“HELLO! I’M YOUR NEW KWAMI, MINAMI, AND I’M GONNA HELP YOU BE A MIRACULOUS SUPERHERO!” A blurry, red object zoomed into his cheek. Yuuri tried to swat it away. What the hell was going on? Who was talking?

A tiny, adorable looking, chicken nugget shaped creature, with red skin and black spots, and two long antennae protruding from the top of its bulbous head, raised its miniature arms in happiness. 

“YOU FINALLY OPENED THE RING BOX AND PUT ON THE RING AND NOW WE CAN FINALLY BE BEST FRIENDS AND SAVE THE WORLD!” The tiny creature named Minami smiled brightly at Yuuri, glittering brown eyes awash with adoration. Was the little bug-thing crying?

Yuuri fainted.


End file.
